


illuminate the "no"s

by coldairballoons



Series: Literature Lovers [4]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy, VFD? Sus AF.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldairballoons/pseuds/coldairballoons
Summary: (Title from "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie)
Relationships: Beatrice Baudelaire/Bertrand Baudelaire/Lemony Snicket
Series: Literature Lovers [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163240
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	illuminate the "no"s

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes... comfort Beatrice. That'se all.

The dark was, well… dark. Bertrand could hardly see his hand in front of his own face, much less his partners’ hands in front of their own faces. If, say, they were holding their hands in front of their own faces, which he assumed was somewhat likely. The candles they had lit nearly an hour before were flickering still, but provided barely any light, save for the occasional shine upon their faces.

The power had gone out almost six hours ago, leaving the three shrouded in darkness. It was perfect (read. “the worst possible”) timing, Bertrand decided, as he and Lemony held onto a shaking, sobbing Beatrice.

Neither knew what was wrong--Bea hadn’t told them anything, but instead preferred to clutch bury her face against them. She didn’t respond to either of their questions, nor choosing to elaborate on anything, nothing but sob. Bertrand combed a hand through her hair, frowning at Lemony, but whether he could see or register the expression on his face was a mystery. 

“It’s going to be alright.” Lemony said, and his voice was just a low rumble, almost like the thunder that had shut down the power in the storm. “It’s alright, Beatrice, we’re here.”

Beatrice did not respond, instead, her sobs increased in intensity, as though their being here was either a relief, or a reminder… Bertrand turned to Lemony, leaning his head against his shoulder, and just held Bea closer. “We won’t leave you, angel.”

“Please-” She gasped, trying not to let her breath hitch into another sob. Instead, her words came out rushed, hasty, pitching up as she started crying again. “Please don’t- don’t leave me…”

“Oh, Bea…” Bertrand whispered, and rubbed his hand in circles against her back. “We won’t, we’re not leaving, not ever, okay? Lem and I, we’re never going to leave you. It’ll be alright.”

Sometimes, in comfort, there are things that one would call a “white lie”, in which one promises something they cannot keep, or maybe one tells a momentary lie that is understood universally to be a “white lie”. This was one such instance, and even as he said it, Bertrand knew it was a “white lie”. 

He couldn’t promise anything, not with Lemony’s plans the next week to go on a mission that they all knew was dangerous. Not knowing the perils that V.F.D. faced, with the dangerous forces at work in the underbelly of what was supposed to be a good and noble organization. 

He couldn’t promise that it would be alright, not with Beatrice’s pregnancy, known only to the three of them. It was a secret, for if their organization found out…

None of them wanted to thrust their children into a world where dangers and perils and fear and threats lurked around every corner. 

But, as most white lies like that did, and as Bertrand’s words usually did, they seemed to calm Beatrice down. Her breathing was slower, softer, and Lemony’s hand brushed Bertrand’s while combing through her hair in a soothing manner. “Are you alright?” Lemony asked gently, his low voice quiet. 

Beatrice didn’t answer, not verbally, but she shook her head, then paused, and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she whispered, her usually bright voice shaky, weak… scared. “I… don’t want to talk about it.”

“What do you need?” Bertrand whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Whatever it is…”

Beatrice laughed softly, pressing closer to her boys. She  _ felt _ shaky, Bertrand realized, holding onto her as tightly as the three of them could bear, as though if he let go, she would vanish into the air. “Stay?” She replied, nudging her nose against the junction where Bertrand’s head met Lemony’s shoulder met Lemony’s neck. “Please?”

“Always.” They said in reply, then paused, Lemony laughing first--a single, low, “ha!”, followed by Bertrand’s quiet laughter. “We’re staying,” Bertrand repeated, kissing Beatrice’s hair, then Lemony’s cheek. “Always.”

And, for what it was worth… while he knew “always” was a white lie and an exaggeration in and of itself, something inside of Bertrand hoped it was true. For Beatrice, for Lemony, for himself.

And for their daughter. 


End file.
